Excerpts from an Equine's Tale
by Avadhani
Summary: Khan's story of what happened during the course of events in Mulan. Yes, it's in THE HORSE's perspective, complete with his snide remarks et al.
1. Disclaimer and Author's Note

Disclaimer: I don't own a thing! Mulan and respective characters are © Disney, who (it must be noted) borrowed liberally from Chinese folklore.

Author's Note: Yes, the entire premise is a bit daft — especially now, some eight years later — but it was one of my first attempted fics, so I have a soft spot for it. It's my aim to try and pick up from where I left off (with a bit of rewrite/revision), and see this to the end. I'm gratified by any kind of readership.


	2. Chapter 1

**Excerpts from an Equine's Tale**: Chapter 1

The air stirs with a sense of disquiet as I keep my vigil at dawn. It's said that when war and chaos are brewing on the horizon, animals are the first to sense it. We respond to the pulse of the land keenest of all living things, and well we should, or the world would slip all too easily into ruin.

My apologies. I'm not overly given to cynicism, though you'll find that my sense of humor tends toward the dry and pointed. With a mistress such as mine, it's quite necessary.

As if to echo my thoughts, a bright voice sings from within the house, coinciding with the crow of the rooster perched on the eaves. I shake my head briskly, though the presentiment from earlier still lingers. Well, no matter. A new day has simply begun, with all its tedium and tasks. Speaking of which...

"Ayah!" A clatter (preceded by a curse) arises, succeeded by several doggy yelps. _Hmm,_ I begin to count off, _one... two... ten._

A flash of white and brown darts past me, grain trailing in its wake. Half a dozen hens cluck after in raucous procession. I blink, grunt bemused. _Mulan... I don't know if you are crazy or ingenious by anyone's standards._ I direct my attention to the spilled grain near my paddock. May as well put it to good use. Breakfast is breakfast, however it's served.

Champing absentmindedly, I observe another blur of movement: my mistress advancing down the dusty path, arms laden with tea utensils and a brimming pot. One can't help but wince and pray that she won't tip out most of the tea along the way. She passes me, and flashes that grin, "I'll be back soon, Khan, have to serve Father his morning tea — you know what the physician said!"

I give an audible snort of affection. Mulan is truly irrepressible. Yet for all her cheek, she never shirks in her daughterly devotion... a shatter sounds from within the family shrine, followed by Fa Zhou's gentle rebuke and Mulan's smart reply. Oh, were that enough.

Today is the day my mistress is to face the ordeal so esteemed by her society, the rite of passage for all young maidens on the cusp of womanhood. In a word: matchmaking. I wonder at the inanity of humans. What is the use of all this tea-pouring and fan-twirling? And then primped, puffed and paraded like a popinjay before the entire village in order to find a mate? How is anyone to keep a straight face, let alone find a mate throughout all of this absurdity? Thank the gods I'm a horse.

My musings are brought up short by Mulan's oncoming slapdash, tack in one hand, scroll in the other. Bits of straw cling to her hair and I sigh.

"Khan, let's be off!" The saddle is cinched hastily enough to make me wince and at once she's apologetic, even in her frenzy. "I'm sorry, boy, there now. There."

Whuffing, I indicate the tendrils in hair but she doesn't notice, babbling away. "I've got to get to the center of the village quickly, so— h'ya!" She summons all the confidence she doesn't feel, and with a light leap onto my back, I'm spurred on. I break into a canter and we speed towards the village.

* * *

Pandemonium abounds. The distress of my kin and the lowing of other bovines float out amid the wreckage and billows of dust, interrupted by a human profanity or two. Squashed fruit and vegetables pervade the entire scene to nauseating effect. This isn't a market-place; it's a whole lot of splintered wood and silk tatters. What has happened here?

A low whistle trails from Mulan's lips as she surveys the panorama. "What on Tu Di Gong's sweet earth happened here?" she wonders aloud, echoing my thoughts. "It looks like a war zone!"

Her roving gaze alights on a wizened form that stands amidst the dust, one arm aloft. "Grandmama?" Mulan cries out, incredulous, and I gallop over to the periphery of the rubble. Indeed it's Grandmama, brandishing what looks like a bamboo cricket-box and babbling something to the effect of it being "a lucky one!" Her daughter-in-law, some distance away, is all side-eyed chagrin, with more than a touch of relief that the woman hasn't killed herself in the chaos she very likely, albeit unwittingly, initiated. It's a look renowned— considering that Mulan is frequently its recipient. I snort. _Crazy old bird; it's likely Mulan takes after her._

Sliding from my back, Mulan drops gracelessly to the ground. Arms extend wide. "I'm here!"

Fa Li's gaze flicks over her daughter's disheveled appearance, at the straw still embedded in her hair. Hands settle at hips with tender exasperation.

"What? But, Mama," Mulan pouts, at a sulky loss. "I had to—"

"None of your excuses!" Fa Li will brook no further argument, seizing her daughter's arm and ushering her to the doorway of a nearby building. "Now, let's get you cleaned up."

Grandmama smirks and follows at a serene pace with my reins. There's a sense of feminine complicity in her knowing smile, before she leaves me to enter the shop. I squint at bright characters emblazoned on the shopfront: "Fine Care & Cosmetics". No, I don't envy Mulan in the slightest right now.


End file.
